


With Oil-filmed Teeth

by aveari



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Inspired by a Kinkmeme Prompt, Nonbinary Pollution, Other, PWP, Pollution is always dripping things, Slight power dynamics, They have sort of a casual arrangement going on, Two Horsepeople meet up and have eldritch sex in an abandoned building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 19:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19707928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveari/pseuds/aveari
Summary: It didn’t happen often, but it always happened easily.This was, of course, understandable. Things like this tended to happen whenever any of them were in the same place at the same time.Famine and Pollution meet in an abandoned building.





	With Oil-filmed Teeth

It didn’t happen often, but it always happened easily.

(They so rarely saw each other in person.)

This was, of course, understandable. _Things_ tended to happen when any of them were in the same place at the same time. 

This time, the place involved a shell of a city building. Empty food wrappers and spray paint cans piled into the corners where rats fought and scavenged for crumbs. (They hadn’t been scavenging before _he’d_ arrived. They hadn’t even existed. He always did like to needle at Pollution with things like that; rats had been Pestilence’s calling card.)

It also must be said that currently, the _things_ that were tending towards happening involved Famine’s teeth - needle-sharp and pleasantly yellowed - digging into the top of Pollution’s shoulder. They involved his hands slipping down over their hips to where he’d spread their legs wide, skimming over their clit with light touches. They involved a quiet, pleased hum in Pollution’s voice, like the thrum of machinery, when Famine reached lower to slide one finger into them, then two. 

Pollution had always enjoyed these sorts of things. They leaned back into Famine where he sat, his chest to their back in the squalor of the emptiness, and silently gloated. 

He was always so _needy_ , was the thing _._ They could feel him, feel him hard against their legs and feel his presence in the air, wanting more with the desperation of the dying, the deprived. His hips were stuttering forward and back, his cock shoving up awkwardly between their legs when he could manage to line it up and glancing off of their holes when he couldn’t. 

Pollution laughed and made their blood cling filmy to his teeth in a lovely trait they’d given to crude oil. He could scrub himself free of it, but he’d still think of them the next time he smiled, the next time the mess spread across his lips. 

They had planned to be lazy about it, recline against his chest and be worshipped. But now it seemed a pity not to see their handiwork. They rose to their knees without warning and turned around, straddling Famine’s hips and bracing their hands against the brick wall. 

Fingers and teeth would have been enough, but… they were really so very _hungry_. 

“Will you?” The first words spoken in the entire encounter. They weren’t intoned as a question. 

Famine thrust up hard into Pollution with a moan that should have been relieved, but wasn’t. Pollution took him with a soft low sound that should have been startled, but wasn’t. It was a rhythm fueled entirely by desperation, and _ah - fuck -_ every slide of friction seemed to only make them crave it more. The air around Famine was like that, Pollution thought dizzily; it made you crave, made you feel as if you would die if you couldn’t _have._ Made you need things you hadn’t needed before. 

Famine was fucking up into them faster, now, and with a particularly good thrust they were dripping more dark oil down the length of his cock. He made a choked noise, low in his throat, and they felt him twitch. They shuddered in response, dropping their hips back down to meet him as he jerked upwards, over and over. Where their hands pressed against the wall, the brick was growing dark and wet with ammonia and smoke. 

Pollution leaned down for an open-mouthed kiss, feeling Famine’s beautiful teeth slice into their lips with a pleased groan. With a thought, their tongue was coated in sweet arsenic, just to feel him chase the taste in a truly debauched mess of tongues and teeth and, and _ah,_ there was so much wetness between them now, and a burning coil of need, need, _need_. 

More oil. More arsenic. Sweat was pooling in their collarbones as the dark silver of liquid mercury. When another thrust hit up against the front of their walls, drawing a loud whimper from them, they let tears run down their face from their eyes and lips in streams of hydrochloric acid. 

Beneath them, Famine was writhing, lungs gasping in the haze, spittle flicking over his chin as his chest and stomach tensed with the effort to breathe. His skin was drawn tight over the bones of his rib cage as his lungs heaved. His cock twitched again at the sensation, harder, and he moaned, something pleading in his dark eyes. 

“Filthy, isn’t it,” Pollution whispered, and there was only the slightest of tremors in their voice, despite everything. “Beautiful. So beautiful.” They caught Famine’s lip between their teeth and pulled back just far enough to murmur, “make it filthier, then -” 

Famine did. He threw his head back, then forward to Pollution’s shoulder. He bit into their neck again, _hard,_ and somehow growing more and more teeth to rip into them _._ Even that didn’t muffle a cry so sweetly delighted as to be pained. And then there was warmth spilling inside of them, as he ground his hips up and stayed there as he shuddered apart, twitching and gasping against their skin. 

For a moment, there was silence.

And then there was not. 

When Famine slipped out of them, he sighed out air that was heady and dizzying. The space between them felt even more tightly wound, and Pollution didn’t so much as have time to resent him for it before they were clawing at his shoulders, their hips jerking forward and shamelessly grinding down onto Famine’s lap. 

And Famine? He did what Famine does best. He watched someone succumb to starvation and smiled. He drank it in like fine wine as Pollution frantically, pleadingly moved against his thighs in search of friction. There was heat still pooling between their legs, but not fast enough, not enough to satiate the sudden burning hunger. 

He could smell it on the air from miles away, the smell of desperation, and Pollution knew it. They could see it in the shine of his eyes. Still, he didn’t draw it out, didn’t move back, not as their hips finally, finally started to stutter from their breakneck rhythm, not as they buried their face in his bony chest. Their knees crept upward, as if trying to curl into a ball from the pleasure of it, and then everything was hot and loose and they were gasping small, unspeakably relieved gasps against his skin and dripping crude oil and venom onto his thigh. 

Elsewhere, a person near to dying of thirst gave in and plunged their face into a scummy orange river, drinking their fill of poison and sighing in relief as it went down. 

“Again soon?” Famine’s voice was steady once Pollution stopped twitching through the aftershocks and got to their feet. He followed them up, then snapped his fingers, and was immediately dressed in his usual suit. Stylishly cut to show his gauntness, of course. 

“Don’t leave it so long this time.” Pollution’s clothes manifested around them in a gust of air, shaping themselves out of the piles of foil wrappers and plastic sheets. 

He offered a kiss with cracked lips. They bit them with oil-filmed teeth. 

There was one laugh on the wind, and then there was an empty building, full of the refuse of humanity and the leavings of spirits.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a prompt on the good omens kink meme, which I was reading at some ridiculously late hour. Then I stayed up even later to write this. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! I'm going to bed.


End file.
